20. Lyssa

But the next night,before I can head out to the meeting with Scarlett, Hadria’s called her own meeting for the senior Syndicate members—and I don’t want to ditch, because it’s happening at Elysium.

The war room in the new mansion is still unfinished, nothing but bare concrete walls and floors, though the same big fucking table is here now, plus our chairs—and Hadria’s throne. But despite the lack of comforts, it’s secure—newly soundproofed with audio disruptors laced through the walls to prevent eavesdropping.

It’s still a little strange until we all take our seats, and then everything feels familiar again. My chair is in my usual spot near the head of the long table, at Hadria’s right hand. Marco and Ricky have moved way up the table, too, since last time we were all sitting around it, and although there are fewer of us these days—the gardens outside watered with the blood of many people I thought were friends—our ranks are growing again.

It’s good to see.

Also good to see Hadria lounging in that damn throne of hers, though I’d never say so to her face.

“Report,” she says coolly, and with that one word, it feels like we’re finally home.

I launch into an overview of our position—the last six months of the Syndicate’s growth since the purging, our tightening grip on some of the best smuggling routes in and out of Chicago. “The Imperiolis are backing off. Our targeted strikes are working.”

Something twitches in Hadria’s jaw right around where the smile muscles would be, but she remains impassive. “Good.”

“They’re still paying off or threatening some of our usual medical contacts, though,” Marco pipes up, his brows knitting together. “Trying to cut off our support.”

Smart move on their part, though I don’t say it. Depriving us of skilled medics who will treat our people is a simple way to weaken the Syndicate over time.

Hadria nods. “I think we’re all aware of that. I’ve decided to send Aurora out to speak to a few people, see if she can convince them back to our employ.”

There’s a murmur of surprise through the room at that.

This time, Hadria does smile, though it’s cold and calculated. “It’s that sweet demeanor of hers—she’s much better at charming people than I am.”

A faint chuckle goes around the table I can’t help smirking, too. Our little Suzy Sunshine has a way of wrapping people around her little finger without them even realizing it.

“If she can handle the Boss,” Ricky rumbles, echoing my thoughts, “I think a few medics would be child’s play for her.”

“Any other suggestions?” Hadria says, with a glare at Ricky that he just grins at. “Anyone know a few stand-in medics while we’re waiting?”

“Scarlett has medical training,” I say without thinking.

All eyes swing to me.

Dead silence. Then—”Who the fuck is Scarlett?” Marco asks, trading a bewildered look with another Syndicate member.

Ah, shit. “She…”

“Scarlett is the name of the assassin who has been killing our Syndicate members,” Hadria supplies. “Lyssa has been working to eliminate the threat.”

Her voice is calm. But I know that tone. I’ve fucked up, bad, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

The temperature in the room plummets about twenty degrees as everyone processes that bombshell. Ricky breaks the silence first.

“You’re shitting me,” he growls at me. “She doesn’t have a bullet in her skull yet? You said you were taking care of it, Wolf.”

My gaze flicks instinctively to Hadria, searching for backup, but her expression is carefully neutral.

“I was just kidding,” I say. “About the medic thing.”

There’s another pause.

“Ha-fuckin’-ha,” Marco growls. “That bitch killed Yuri. If you can’t handle the job?—”

“Watch it,” I hiss at him, and pleasingly, he quails. I might have slipped up, but I can still kill him quicker than he can draw his next breath. “She’ll be dead soon enough.”

I keep my expression impassive, years of practice holding firm. But something in Hadria’s eyes tells me she sees right through me.

And we’re not done yet, apparently. Ricky is muttering a string of curses under his breath. He slams his hand hard on the table. “Why ain’t this assassin dead yet if she’s hitting our crews? What’s the fucking hold up?”

“Yeah, what gives?” someone else further down the table demands, and then there’s a whole fucking chorus of it rising up.

This time, though, Hadria has my back.

“The assassin is merely a pawn,” she says, her tone razor-edged enough to cut through the cacophony. “Lyssa, not being a complete moron, wants to find out who is truly pulling the strings against us. Then we will cut the puppet master’s throat along with this…Scarlett’s.”

It’s a good defense, I’ll give her that. Marco and Ricky still look pissed but a little of the heat bleeds from their glares.

“We still shoulda been told this was a bigger threat than just some lone actor,” Ricky grumbles.

Hadria inclines her head a fraction. “Well, now you’re informed. And when Scarlett and her backer are no longer a concern, Lyssa will update you.” Her gaze pins me again. “Won’t you, Lyssa?”

I nod, keeping my expression impassive despite the sickly lurch in my gut. “That’s the plan, Boss.”

Hadria seems satisfied, clearing her throat to move the discussion along. “For the time being, the Sokolovs’ attempt to flex their pathetic muscles by disrupting our established supply routes must be ignored unless absolutely necessary. I will not have Chicago?—”

“—destabilized before the wedding,” everyone calls out, followed by laughter.

Even I smile, though it’s automatic. I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve all heard Hadria reiterate this mantra.

As for Hadria, she just shrugs. “As long as you all understand. If they need to be dealt with, I want them left alive. And trust me, you don’t want to see me in Bridezilla mode.”

The others chuckle and I force out a low laugh myself, though it sticks in my throat. Hadria’s gaze finds me again as the laughter subsides, those cool gray eyes holding a faint warning.

And then the meeting goes on.

When the doors of the war room close behind the last Syndicate member leaving our briefing, Hadria turns to me, and I brace myself.

“You’ve been uncharacteristically restrained about this assassin, Wolf.”

And that statement is uncharacteristically restrained from Hadria Imperioli, head of the Styx Syndicate. So I think I’m dealing with my friend right now, not my Boss.

I shrug a shoulder, feigning nonchalance despite the sudden tightness in my chest. “Like I said, I’m handling it.”

“Are you? Because I gave you a long rope, Lyssa, and I’d really rather you didn’t hang yourself with it.”

“It’s like you said in the meeting. I’m getting close to gain her trust, to lure out Grandmother—the one who’s really got the potential to be a thorn in our side.”

Hadria studies me a moment, then nods slowly. “Look, I didn’t want to go into all that with the Syndicate. It’s your past, and your business. But if you need help, ask for it.”

“I don’t need help. It’s under control. I’m handling it.”

She sighs. “Please promise me you are, Lyssa. We can’t afford any fuckups, not with so much riding on Juno Bianchi’s visit.”

“I promise you. I’m handling it.”

She holds my gaze a beat longer, then she grins. “That’s a good Wolf. Now get out of here and do what needs doing.”

I offer a mocking salute as I turn on my heel and stride from the room. But the further I get from the mansion, the more I feel like my facade is fraying at the edges.

AmI handling it?

Or is Scarlett handling me?